[Promiscuous Top] Thwarted

[Feeder]

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Today I fucked a real stunner who I've been after since a completely aborted encounter last year. He's from Colombia, very handsome in a studious-yet-athletic way, impressively built and well-proportioned, hairy, and best of all, inexplicably into me. Last year I saw him on Manhunt while he was visiting NYC, and I ran all the way up to midtown, unable to believe my luck with bagging this guy, only to find he was staying at a YMCA that didn't allow any visitors in the rooms-- right at the elevator that was supposed to take me to head-spinning, undeserved bliss, a cranky security guard asked who I was, and completely cockblocked me. Bogotá Beauty asked me to wait in the lobby while he ran upstairs and implored some unseen entity, but came back down after five excruciating minutes, walked me outside, and told me we couldn't do it in his room. He asked if we could go to my place, but we wouldn't have enough time, and I thought, I simply can't see getting a hotel room just to fuck. So I went back home with very angry testicles. For months afterward, egged on by a friend who regularly berated me for not going to an hourly place (I didn't know they even existed), I would gaze at his beautiful photos and kick myself. At that point, $150 to ejaculate in that beautiful creature would have been nothing! A few weeks ago I dropped him a line asking if he'd ever come back to the states, and he said he was planning a trip to Chicago for the end of this month. He reiterated his desire to get my cum in him and said maybe he would come to NYC again for a few days. I couldn't believe my luck again! Today I get a note saying "ARE YOU AROUND I AM IN NYC" and "COME OVER AND FUCK ME I AM IN WEST VILLAGE ON JANE ST." And I thought, oh fuck, I'm going to be thwarted yet again, for reasons I will now explain. And I *was* thwarted, but in a totally unexpected way.

If someone is staying on Jane Street in the West Village, they are almost definitely staying at the Jane Hotel, which I think had once been a flophouse, but recently was converted into a "luxury" hotel whose rooms are literally about ten square feet bigger than my second bathroom. The single rooms have a twin bed, a wall covered with mirrors to fool you into thinking you're sleeping in a cell twice as big as the cell you're actually sleeping in, and no A/C. There's a big shelf over the bed for your baggage, so you can't kneel on the bed, I don't think. There are bookshelves at the foot of the bed; every inch of space is taken on that side in that direction. Ironically (though not unusually-- I seem to be irony incarnate, with a sad, frustrated dick), I had once before been invited to the Jane, a couple of years ago, to fuck another beautiful, very perfectly built, very nice guy from Baltimore who was staying there on a blazingly hot day when the elevator didn't work. That time, I schlepped up five flights of stairs, arriving on his floor covered with sweat, and he greeted me at the door naked in all his splendor, inviting me into a tiny oven with an ineffectually open window. I hate looking at myself when I'm fucking, and was already intimidated by Baltimore Beauty's incredibly sexy aura, and hate being hot, and hate being cramped, and though I made out with him and sucked his beautiful nips and ate his beautiful ass my penis had retracted halfway into my body and refused to play. I gave up, and he offered to shower with me in the communal bathroom for the floor, and I stood there miserably soaping up a body I couldn't properly use. It was, needless to say, suboptimal. I rationalized that he'd insisted I use a condom before I went over, so it would have been a little frustrating anyway.

So I think about all this on the quick train ride over today to meet Bogotá Beauty. At least it's a beautiful breezy day. A tall, hairy, leggy, handsome guy is sitting right across from me on the train and I can't help but stare at his package, between two very shapely thighs, heavy with relaxed muscle. Next to him, a rather attitudy-looking Latino queen in dark glasses appears to be staring at MY package. I hope things will turn out better this time. I hope Bogotá Beauty can kiss. Please God let him kiss.

So I arrive and he opens the door in a t-shirt and briefs and he's so fucking beautiful with that solid torso and those thick legs and that tiny waist. We start making out and God had listened-- he really did kiss very nicely. His body was an amazing slab of meat, extremely curvaceous and rippling under my hands. The room was still stifling hot, despite the cool breezy day, and seemed even smaller than I remembered-- there was honestly barely three feet of space between the bed and the mirror wall. But the kissing went on for a good while and my meat was getting thick and tingly. I told him to get on his knees and suck my dick.

And he gave lousy head. Strike one! I am seriously going to start a company that goes around giving guys lessons in how to suck a dick. He seemed to just want me to ram my dick in him anyway, and not really do any work himself. I really need good head to get rock-hard, but I held his ears and pulled his head to me and felt my semi-hard dickhead tickling the back of his throat, a very pleasant little thrill. Still, not enough for me.

So I hauled him up and pushed him over the bed, maneuvering in the tiny space to admire his ass. I pulled down the briefs to reveal a huge, round, hairy ass just begging me to stick my face in it. So I did. The hair on his ass and legs was thick and dark but surprisingly soft (which I prefer to Brillo). His nuts were round and heavy, hanging low. His dick was quite small. But I just licked his hole and his perineum and his balls, which made him gasp, and held one thick thigh in the crook of my arm, letting my other hand slide down his hard, meaty leg, and my dick got hard as a rock. He was very quiet and I couldn't tell how into it he was, crammed against the other wall like that with one leg on the floor and one bent on the bed. But this was one of the sweetest asses I ever ate, so I just kept at it. Sometimes he would make a small noise, if my beard brushed his balls, say. What I wouldn't give to lay him flat on the bed and admire his shape, get eye-level with it with enough room to spread out and really feel everything. Fuck you, Jane Hotel.

I had to slip my dick in. I stood up and laid my dick on his crack and slid it around, feeling dizzy from the pleasure of seeing my tool on this sex-god's ass. I slid the head in and he jerked his body, like it was too soon. So I got back down and ate him some more; he was getting slippery inside, I could tell. Some guys have asses like cunts that lube up when they're turned on. He's one of them. So I stood up and slid my dick right in up to the balls. He jerked again and pushed me out. He definitely felt loose and slippery enough for me, but he reached up over his head into a bag and felt around for something-- lube, I assumed.

But he pulled out a *condom*.

I looked at it, and told him, "I thought you said you like it raw," and he said "Eh?" and I said "I didn't know you wanted a condom," realizing that maybe, being from Colombia, he didn't know what "raw" even meant. But I swear he had talked about wanting me to shoot my big load in him! Whatever, it wasn't something I was going to argue about. So I ate his ass some more and felt my dick precumming like crazy, despite feeling extremely frustrated by the whole thing. The condom was nicely lubed and actually pretty thin, so I rolled it on and slid into him and plowed him fairly hard, intensity having to stand in for quality. But condoms and I just don't get along well; it was really like a very awkward sort of aerobics. My dick felt almost nothing, though my groin is always happy to thrust against a slab of hairy meat like that.

I pulled out, threw the condom on the floor, and ate him out some more as I jerked myself with my spit and the remnants of the condom's lube that was now on my dick. His hindquarters were so beautiful that it really was enough; I was shaking with the excitement of being that close to him. But it really wasn't going to be much fun to prolong this in this tiny hot space with latex on my wang. So I decided to finish up. Fighting the devilish, almost overwhelming urge to pretend like I still had the condom on and go into him raw like I wanted-- it was *extremely* tempting-- I slipped the condom back on my dick, which was very hard and slippery from my own precum now, and shoved it back in him, climbed high on his back, and drove my dick down into his prostate. He kept curling around to watch my ass pump in the mirror, and I smelled the unmistakable scent of poppers; I don't even know where he spirited that from. He was grunting a bit as I rode him and it was actually feeling pretty good. But I guess he got a cramp; he stood up beside the bed and bent over and I got behind him, slipped back in, and slammed into him standing up. I permitted myself to watch my hips and thighs deliver the meat into him again and again; not too shabby looking, I thought. I felt his muscles ripple under my hands, the thick clipped hair on his chest, his mowed but still rough pubes, his tree-trunk like thighs. He turned his head back and we made out a little as I drilled him and it was too much for me; I began to fill the condom with thick salty jets of spooge spurt by spurt. I kept fucking him for as long as I thought I could without popping the condom-- I'm not one of these guys who gets off on cumming in guys who don't want you cumming in them; sorry, readers.

I pulled the condom out and admired its payload before throwing it in the trash. We made out and he fondled my balls and my pubes and my wet dick a bit while he stroked his own dick a bit. But then he gave me some very handy wet-nap things and we chatted awkwardly about his visit; I dunno if he was upset that I stuck my dick in him some without a rubber or if this didn't go how he expected in general, or he's just naturally shy, but it made me a little uncomfortable and disappointed. He said he had to meet a friend "somewhere in Brooklyn," and I said "Oh no, where is your friend? I live in Brooklyn too, you should have just come out there, I have a bigger bedroom for sure..." He wasn't sure where in Brooklyn, he had it written down somewhere. As I put on my shoes, my mind played a wistful film loop of myself fucking him properly on my own bed with the AC wafting over our heaving bodies over and over. What a waste. Fuck you, Jane Hotel!

Fifteen minutes after I went into his room, I slipped back out and strolled up to the train. Hard to know whether this one was worth it or not. I think I need to fuck a plain, normal-bodied, enthusiastic and skilled bottom next time. Enough with the pretty boys for now.

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